


Saskatoon

by yuletide_archivist



Category: Hard Core Logo (1996)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-12-20
Updated: 2006-12-20
Packaged: 2018-01-25 04:28:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1631540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuletide_archivist/pseuds/yuletide_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>And this place, this road, this fucking stop in their lives, will always be theirs.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Saskatoon

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to my glorious beta, you know who you are :)
> 
> Written for katarin

 

 

1995  
Saskatoon, population 216,450

Billy has no fucking idea what he's doing here, and he doesn't just mean Saskatoon.  It's not that Billy doesn't have good memories of Hard Core Logo, of course he does.  They were a band for 12 years and they made some great fucking music and then there's Joe who ... Well, it's fucking _Joe_.  Billy probably would have stayed 12 years with that bastard even if there hadn't been the band.

But the truth was that Billy had moved on.  There was Jenifur to think about now, his career, his future.  And all those things seemed a million miles away as Billy stood there in Saskadelphia, freezing in his thermals, down to his last three cigarettes.

His fingers were toying with his lighter when he saw a dark shape appear in his peripheral vision, leaning up against the van next to him.  Joe and that stupid fucking haircut of his, how had Billy let him talk him into this clusterfuck of a tour.

"You forgive me?"

It takes Billy a second or two to figure out what Joe is talking about.  Billy guesses Joe probably means their last gig being cancelled as opposed to any of the other ten billion things Billy could choose or choose not to forgive Joe for.  "Fuck off, Joe."

"That's not buddies."  Billy looks over at Joe just as Joe offers him a cigarette.  It's Joe's last.  It's a gesture, a token, and not a bad one.  Billy takes it and puts it between his lips, let's Joe light it.  "There you go, Billiam, don't gotta fucking pout.  We still got the best ones ahead of us."

Joe's talking a little fast, and his eyes are open just a little too wide, and Billy glares at him.  "You fuckin' high or something?"

"No."  And Billy decides to let it go right then.  The fighting's old and comfortable, just like everything else, and the last thing Billy wants is to get too comfortable.

For a moment they just stand there in silence, and it's just wind and other cars, and Bruce and his film crew interviewing Pipe and John about seventy feet away as they stand by a sign that reads: Saskatoon, population 216,450.  Billy watches them for a moment, scanning their small, animated faces for any sign of his friends, from the guys he spent a good chunk of his life with.

12 years. 12 years was a long fucking time.  Billy remembers more nights sleeping and fucking around in the van than he can really count.  He remembers the food, and the beer, and the girls, and the music, and the stages, and the crowds, and the bloody knuckles.  His life during that time plays with colour, with a vivid, panoramic view, even if he spent most of it drunk.

Billy wonders how Bruce will capture even a tenth of that.  A hundredth.  A fucking thousandth.  Especially since now they're all just shadows of that time, less real than a photograph.

"You thinkin' deep thoughts in there, Bill?"

"It happens."

"Not to me.  Makes life much easier that way."  Shit-eating grin, and whatever, Billy's willing to bet that Joe's thought plenty about this tour and about this very fucking moment.

"You wanna go back in the van?" Billy's already moving, heading towards the back.  He climbs in, yanks hard on the doors to get them to open, and turns to shut them just as Joe climbs in next to him.  "It's fucking cold out."

"You've been living in L.A. way too fucking long."  Joe sits down on the mattress, where Billy usually sits, and pats the space next to him.  Billy sits down, winding his coat around his torso before he does.

And maybe that's a little true.  Billy crosses his arms over his chest for warmth and leans back against the wall of the van.  He watches Joe watch him, Joe's blue eyes so clear that Billy thinks he might be able to see right through them and straight and into Joe's weird, twisted brain.

"You're such a fucker, Joe," Billy says, relating to nothing but just because Joe _is_ a fucker.  "I can't believe you brought me out here again.  I can't believe we're fucking doing this.  You're a selfish, delusional, cu - "

And the words stop right there as Joe presses his mouth to Billy's and kisses him; deep, hard, and with teeth, and it could mean anything.  It could mean _shut the fuck up_ because Joe never wants to hear the bad shit.  Sometimes Billy gets sick of saying it anyway.

So they kiss.  Billy's not sure why.  Joe seems to give up after a while and he pulls back, wiping his mouth, not meeting Billy's eyes.  Joe seems a little lost, and Billy stares at the pink tips of Joe's ears, at the pale white space of his skull that looks vulnerable and cold.  Why Joe shaved his head, Billy has no idea, except to maybe make some kind of statement, to feel younger, to be a bit more punk.  Joe was always trying to be a bit more punk.

Billy licks his lips, he can feel his heart somewhere in his throat.  The van sucks, it stinks, it has a fucking hole in the floor that Joe tried to cover up with _carpet_ because that was how Joe fucking Dick's head _worked_ sometimes.  But Billy understands why though, because sometimes it's just easier to pretend the hole isn't there.

Billy puts his hand on Joe's back and moves it up to his neck, palming the warm skin and just letting it rest there for a moment.  "Things are different now, Joe."

Sarcastic.  "Yeah, no fucking shit."

"Well what'd you fucking expect?  That I'd come back and suddenly - suddenly none of the past shit would matter anymore?"  Which, Billy was sure, was exactly what Joe had expected.  "It's not going to fucking happen."

Joe's face twists briefly and he presses his lips together before smacking Billy's hand off his neck.  "Like I fucking want a little shit like you around anyway.  Fuck off."  Joe stands and heads towards the back of the van, he kicks the doors open and jumps out, leaving the cold air to wash inside.

***

1979  
Saskatoon, population 150,623

It's 9:33 pm and the road is empty, the street lights hold everything in a yellow glow.  Billy stands by the van, smoking a cigarette and watching Pipe and John as they hike back up the street to find a gas station.  The van's broken again or maybe Joe just 'forgot' to fill it with gas, either way they're stranded and the radio is saying it'll probably dump a foot of snow on their heads as they wait for something to happen.

"How could you forget to get gas?" Billy asks for about the twentieth time.  "When we're about to leave for fucking tour?  Fucking how does that fucking happen?"

Joe's jumping around, trying to stay warm but high out of his fucking mind.  It doesn't take a fucking Pipefitter to figure out where that gas money went.  Billy's surprised that Joe can even feel the fucking cold at this point.  "It happened, just quit bitchin' and enjoy the fucking scenery."

Joe gestures to miles of absolutely nothing.  He's smiling though, and breathing in hard through his nose, causing his nostrils to flare.

"Fucking freak."  Billy almost wishes it was snowing, just so he could rub Joe's face in it.  "I'm getting back in the van."  He tosses his cigarette to the ground and opens the back door, pulling at them because they've been sticking since Friday, and climbs inside.  Joe manages to wiggle his way in just before Billy slams them shut.  "Cunt."

"That your new favourite word, Billy Billy Billiam?"

"BIG cunt.  Nasty cunt."

Joe laughs and Billy shoves him so he hits the doors, nearly tumbling back out, but that just makes Joe laugh harder.  He runs at Billy and tackles him onto the thin mattress that has been shoved into the corner.  It's Billy's mattress, back from when he'd been staying at the squat house.  Billy had wanted to leave it behind but Joe had fucking insisted.  And before Billy could say anything else, Joe'd been lugging the damn thing down some rickety stairs, shoving it through a narrow doorway, and throwing it into the van.

As far as Billy knew, it hadn't moved since.  And right now, Joe's pressing Billy into it, holding him down and looming his face right in front of Billy's.  Joe's all teeth and raised eyebrows, like a demented Halloween mask.  His breath smells like cigarettes and puffs out warm on Billy's cheeks.  "You kiss your mother with that tongue, Billy?"

"A smelly, infected, oozing cu - "

And Joe kisses him.  The bastard.  Their legs are tangled, Billy's butt hangs half off of the mattress, and Joe's hands are holding onto his arms just a little too tight, but it's a good kiss.  A great fucking kiss.  Billy opens his mouth and Joe makes a sound like he's really happy, and slides his tongue inside, deepening the kiss, deepening his hold.  Billy holds Joe back, his arms going around Joe's back, pulling him on top of him and keeping him there.  Sometimes Billy just _needs_ the fucker, as much as he might hate to admit it.

They kiss for a long time, and eventually Joe's hands make their way to Billy's coat, shoving the thick material off Billy's shoulders. Billy sits up to help him, squirming to get his arms out of the sleeves, but Joe is already yanking it off, throwing it back where it hits a wall and thumps to the floor.  Billy chuckles and lets himself fall back onto the mattress, flat on his back, staring up at the bubble dome that they'd cut into the ceiling, that leaks rain and cold air because they didn't do it right.   He can feel Joe's hands on his belt, pulling it loose, fumbling with his button and zipper.

Soon, Billy can feel Joe's breath on his cock, and he tenses, his knees bending instinctively.  Joe leans in and fucking nuzzles at Billy's crotch, like a big, sloppy basset-hound.  Billy snorts, shifts around, feels his stomach tense and with a sudden, sharp inhale of breath.  Joe's tongue, wide and flat, licks wetly along Billy's cock, his head already bobbing, moving side to side.  His knees shift on the van's floor, restless.  Billy presses a hand into Joe's hair and squeezes his eyes shut, already breathing hard.  He gives Joe's hair a slight tug, then thrusts up into his mouth.

For a moment, Billy thinks about fucking Joe's mouth so hard he has trouble singing tonight, give him a nice fucking _rasp_.  It wouldn't be the first time, but Joe would kick his ass.

Billy kneads his hand through Joe's hair instead, letting the soft dark strands fall through his fingers.  Joe hums a bit, his eyes slipping shut.  His hands tighten on Billy's hips and Billy can feel each of Joe's rings pressing cold and hard against his skin, leaving indentations.  Billy shifts on the mattress and breathes out a shaky sigh.  Joe's mouth is moving lower on Billy's cock, sucking harder as his tongue flicks over sensitive flesh.  Billy moans just as Joe's hand hooks under Billy's knee and presses it to Billy's chest, bending him in half.  Billy moans again as Joe's mouth withdraws, and there's a fumbling of material as Joe pulls his own cock out of his jeans.

Billy's already breathing hard, his eyes locked onto Joe as Joe spits into his hand and touches himself, getting himself ready, getting himself ready to fuck Billy.  Then, his hands are back on Billy's knees, spreading them wider apart, pushing in between Billy's cold thighs and finding the warmth between them.  Billy holds his breath as Joe pushes into him, fucks him, buries himself inside Billy until he's fully sheathed inside his body.  Lips meeting clumsily for a brief moment before Joe's moving, bucking his hips and fucking Billy hard and fast, driving him into the mattress, his legs aching from their bent position, resting over Joe's shoulders.

Joe's hands move restlessly over Billy's body, trying to touch him everywhere at once.  He grins, his tongue darting out to lick the corner of his mouth.  "You like this, Billy?  Who's the fucking cunt, now?"

Billy's in a daze, Joe's hips thumping hard against his ass, and he feels like he might be fucked straight through the the thin sheet of metal that passes as the van's floor.  But Joe's words cause Billy's eyes to pop open and he laughs.  Because Joe's a fucking bitch sometimes.  Billy just smirks back and smacks Joe one in the face.

Joe just shakes it off and grins, dives into Billy's neck, biting down roughly as his thrusts get more erratic and sloppy.  Soon, Billy feels Joe's back tense, his muscles stiffening all over as he comes with a long, helpless groan.  Billy shifts under him, trying to remind Joe there's more than one fucking dick involved here, and a warm, calloused hand wraps around Billy's cock, pulling and rubbing until Billy comes, thrusting eagerly up into Joe's palm.

Warm, gentled lips meet Billy's again in a careful (if somewhat smug) kiss, and Joe draws out to fall onto the mattress at Billy's side.  And right then, Billy could care less if Pipe and John ever come back.

***

1995  
Saskatoon, 216,451

Billy eventually gets out of the van, hopping onto frozen, Saskatoon ground and wrapping his arms around himself.  He looks around, sees Pipe and John sharing a smoke and still talking to Bruce, John seems tired, drawn.  Pipe's babblin, Billy can tell by the way his hands keep waving around.  Billy realizes that, yeah, okay, he missed the fuckers.  They're family, they're home.  The closest thing that Billy ever had to either.

Joe's sitting on a picnic bench in the opposite direction, his hat off, his hair wispy and soft-looking as the wind pushes through it.  His head is down, his elbows resting on his knees.  And maybe it is all comfortable, Billy being here, on this tour with these guys, playing this music.  And maybe it's love, because Billy, God fucking help him, loved it for a really long time.  But sometimes, that just wasn't enough, was it?  Love didn't put money in the bank, or food on the table, or even fucking gas in the tank.  And despite what Joe thought, you couldn't live on just sheer force of _will_.

He walks over to him, Billy to Joe, his own hat pushed back slightly on his head.  He stops in front of Joe and waits for him to look up.  When Joe finally does, his expression is careful, but there's no anger there.  Joe never could stay mad at Billy very long. 

The temperature is dropping.  Billy gets onto the picnic table behind Joe, shifts so his legs are spread and Joe's leaning back against him, snug between Billy's jean clad thighs.  Billy wraps his arms around him from behind and holds him, squeezes him, maybe a bit too tight.  Because he loves the fucker and he'll always love the fucker.  And this place, this road, this fucking stop in their lives, will always be theirs.

He kisses Joe's head, feels Joe exhale very, very softly (grateful, relieved, hopeful), and turns his head to see John, Pipe, and Bruce all coming over to ruin their moment.  But Billy holds on anyway and eventually, Joe holds back.

 

 

 


End file.
